Trapped
by webdlfan
Summary: Just a little misunderstanding in a relationship. It happens and they both know it. But before they can fix it, a bigger, more dangerous problem threatens ... DL centric. Complete!
1. trouble

_As usual, I don't own or have anything to do with CSI: NY except to watch it :p ... and let my imagination run wild._

* * *

Chapter 1:

Today, Lindsay was grateful that someone else had the body. Hawkes and Stella worked in sync on the John Doe, as she walked around the warehouse dusting for prints, collecting trace and trying to find something in the disorder of some kind neglectful storage system. For the most part, now at least, it was a mindless job—which was a good thing, because she was having a really hard time focusing.

It all went back to Mac's surprising news that morning.

"_You're kidding," Lindsay stared at the official city envelope sitting on Mac's desk._

_Mac shook his head. "According to Jordan, the mayor was very impressed with both of you in dealing with the Belchinski case and watched the deliberation on closed circuit cameras in his office. So he saw both of your testimonies over the evidence."_

"_Why did he take such a personal interest in the case, Mac?" Danny asked, crossing his arm._

"_Belchinski was a close personal friend. His wife apparently said some very kind words about you both."_

_Lindsay remembered the woman, and the sadness in her eyes. They'd talked on and off for several months, from the murder to the trial, but she'd had no idea the woman new the mayor._

"_I'm surprised he didn't have you on the case."_

_Mac nodded , his brows drawn together. "I was at the beginning, but as evidence started pointing toward Belchinski's partner, I stepped back. He lived across from me and Claire for a number of years. I convinced the mayor that because our relationship had been bad then, that he needed to trust me with my staff. You both made me proud."_

"_So what's in the envelope?" Danny asked._

_Mac picked up the evelope and turned it over in his hand slowly. "Looks like you get to take Lindsay to this year's Kennedy Center Honors."_

"_Wow," Lindsay said, at the same time Danny blanched and said, "That's not a reward, Mac. That's torture. No way. No way."_

"_Thanks, Danny," Lindsay murmured._

"_What?"_

Even now, as she wondered through a crime scene, his comment stung. Oh, she was wise enough to know he was objecting to an evening in a tux, not one with her, she couldn't help but wish he'd wanted to take her, wanted to escort her to some place really cool.

They showed the program on public television, so it would be something her parents could see and appreciate about her new life.

But no, not with Danny Messer. He didn't even consult her before he turned the tickets down for both of them. Lindsay had turned to Mac and told him she could find someone else to go with her. She had other friends. And other people on their team might like to go; Hawkes, Stella or even Flack.

But no, the tickets, were given as a reward. They would be representing the department, so it was either them or the gift would go to someone else.

Lindsay had thanked Mac and walked out of his office to head out with Stella to the crime scene. Mac would probably tell Danny he was _expected_ to go now. And that wasn't the point.

I would look fabulous is a dress, Messer, she mentally chastised.

But underneath the hard cop exterior, she was a girl, and she had to wonder if her being in a dress was enough for Danny at all.

"Lindsay." She turned toward Stella's voice, where she was helping Hawkes zip up the body in a long black morgue bag. "We're going to get our vic out. We'll be back in a sec."

Lindsay held up her finger print duster. "I'll be here."

"Try and get finished before we get back," Hawkes teased, using his hand to sweep around the large warehouse. Lindsay laughed, despite herself and shook her head. More of their lab techs were on their way to help out, but right now it was just her and two other uniforms doing their best to find something amidst the chaos. Whoever owned this place—and they hadn't yet gotten in touch with the owner—didn't really care too much about his property. It was just … _everywhere._

And there was always the chance that the disorder was part of a over large crime scene.

But the question was … who would care about what looked to be recalled toys? Or maybe the question was … what else was, or had been hidden, in this place.

Her phone rang

"I got the tickets."

"Because Mac told you we had to take them."

"You wanted to go, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I want to go," she walked around a set of crates and studied an ajar door before carefully pushing it open. "But that's not the point, Messer."

"What?"

Lindsay shook her head as she went to get her case. For one smart guy, he could really just be so typically male sometimes. And sometimes, though you had to do it, you didn't _want_ to have to spell it all out.

She set her case down in the darkened room and retrieved her flashlight. The beam highlighted a stack of papers on a very unorganized desk, three chairs with more folders and papers, and several crates stacked around a rusty file cabinet.

At first glance, she couldn't tell if the mess was natural, or part of their crime scene.

"Listen, Danny, I'm at a crime scene. Right now's not the time to get into this."

"I didn't realize there was something to get into."

She shook her head as she stepped further into the room.

Then the peppered sound blasted through the room, causing a horrific echo. Lindsay's hand shook as the phone clattered to the floor.

_Machine guns._

She spun around, her hand on her weapon, in time to see her fellow officers fall to the ground. Men had filed into the room, nearly a dozen. Half of them had semi automatic weapons …

And there was absolutely nothing she could do.


	2. darkness

_Thank you so very much for the reviews ... they made me smile (probably more evilly than is necessarilly good--but truly, I am grateful. This chapter is dedicated to _**lily moonlight** ... specifically a very small, tiny play by play between her favorite pair. :p

_As usual, I don't own or have anything to do with CSI: NY except to watch it :p ... and let my imagination run wild._

* * *

Chapter 2:

_Five minutes earlier_.

When Stella's phone rang, she stepped back and left Hawkes to handle the paperwork dealing with their DOA.

"Did you get my message?" she asked Mac without preamble. Flack had left to try and get them more information, but everything was slow in coming.

"I put in a call to Jordan. For whatever reason things are slowing up down there, you should have your information over there within the hour."

"Thanks Mac," she glanced back at the building where she'd left Lindsay brooding and considered her colleague's demeanor thoughtfully. "So Danny must not have wanted the tickets."

"Turned them down flat," Mac said. "Dinner's on you."

Stella laughed and shook her head. She never should have bet against Mac, no matter how soft she felt toward Danny. "So now you're telling him it's his job to go for the department."

"What else? Can't believe you thought our boy would go down without a fight."

"Two years ago, maybe not, but it's a free date, Mac. It's an amazing opportunity. A grand gesture. Danny couldn't pull something like this off on his own and he's got this soft heart where Lindsay's concerned."

"Maybe _you_ should have been the one tell him. He missed his chance with Lindsay."

"I kind of figured. She's been quiet out here—"

Then she heard it. The rapid fire of machine guns. Not just one.

She spun around, stared at the building as her hand trembled. She watched the windows close to the room shattered, the glass raining down to the asphalt below.

"Was that—"

Stella stared at the glass as it fell, lay ominously on the ground.

"Rapid fire. Mac, Lindsay's _in there._"

* * *

"Lindsay?" Danny's shouted into his phone, then click it closed as he looked around the lab and noticed one of the lab techs smirking down at his testing.

He was over reacting. She'd just hung up on him because _she_ was over reacting. He stared down at his phone. Didn't he have the tickets? Weren't they going? Wasn't that the whole point?

He let out a breath.

"Danny—" He looked up as Mac came into the lab. "You still on the phone with Lindsay?"

"What?" Danny stared at his boss as he wound his way through the tables from the other side of the lab. Not only was he confused by the question, but by the tone. And the look in his eyes. "No, she—"

"There's been gunfire down at the scene."

Danny fought against sudden nausea. "She—"

"We don't know," Mac stopped, unable to give any words of hope. He just didn't know what was going on. "Let's go."

Danny followed Mac, his hand closed around his phone in a fist, barely holding on to his sanity. If Lindsay hadn't hung up on him, then he'd hung up on her.

* * *

There was water running, the sound somewhat hollow as it flowed directly into the drain. Lindsay closed her eyes and pressed her cheek against her knees as she covered her ears. Someone should turn it off. Someone should turn off the water.

She just listened to it run, the bile rising in her throat.

They would come in. Soon, they would come in. They would hear the water and they would know…

_No_ … no, there was no water. There was shouting. Banging. She wasn't in a bathroom; she was in a dark room. It was dark. She wasn't a teenager anymore. She was trained and she had a weapon.

The fear crawled up, but it wasn't fear of today. It came from the past. She could see Daniel Kadance, his eyes so eerily mocking flashed. But he wasn't alone, and it wasn't just her friends that lay on the diner floor. She could see the men, the officers who had been there to help. They had fallen. They were dead.

Their blood ran bright red on the floor, past and present bleeding into mixing streams.

She wanted to escape. Her breath caught in her chest. It was hard to breath. The need to run made her skin crawl, her fingers tremble against her face.

But it wasn't right. She wasn't a runner. She forced herself to take a deep breath, then another, practicing the mental exercises she'd learned after the deaths of her friends. Breath in, relax. Slowly.

There was no water running in the faucet. She was on the ground, on the cold hard floor. That was the only similarity. Her fingers were wrapped tight around her flashlight. She flipped it on, the beam lighting the small dark room. She'd somehow gotten in between the desk and the far wall.

Hiding. She was hiding. It sickened her.

Slowly, she pushed herself up, trembling on legs that had lost their feeling. She felt weak. Shock, she thought. She had to fight it, had to fight the memories, even as the reality seemed so surreal.

The hadn't just shot to kill. They'd fired wildly, bullets causing the bodies to shake even before they fell to the ground. They'd not even had a chance to go for their weapons. Whatever their purpose, it was deadly.

Even worse, she didn't even know if Stella and Hawkes were okay. She didn't even know what had happened on the outside.

And then she heard voices as someone walked along the outer wall. It stopped just outside the door.

She flipped off her flashlight and slid back down to the floor, holding her breath as she curled into herself.

The door handle rattled as she held her breath.


	3. contact

_I have to thank you for the great encouragement you guys have left. Thank you! By the way, as obvious, I own nothing to do with the show (as you're reading it and not watching it on a Wednesday night), but I'm glad that someone does to feed my imagination._

* * *

Chapter 3:

Even as the movement and ruckus from the warehouse itself echoed in the little room, the sound of the door was deafening. Lindsay heard the door knob turn and watched as light appeared in the darkness.

Then spotted her phone lying on the floor where she had dropped it. Her breathing halted as she stared at it, then up to where she could see light. Would he know if he saw? She saw the officers shake then fall, the image rolling over and over in her mind as she waited. Feared. Hoped.

She held her breath, waiting and watching the light.

From the other side of the room, she heard a male voice call out above the noise. "Rudolf—we'll get that later. Come help me get this."

The door stopped, and the shadow that had been a man moved, leaving a thin strip of light.

Lindsay let out a breath, and fought against the voice from her past. The laughter of her friends that somehow mixed with the sounds of the men on the outside. The panic of gunshots, that wasn't in the present.

She blinked and listened to the noise outside, staring at the thin line of light that separated her from her safe place and danger.

* * *

Mac had been around for a long time, and was used to seeing the crowd of emergency workers. He wasn't surprised at the number of people or the flurry of activity, nor that Danny was out of the SUV before they were completely stopped.

He looked at the building, at the cracked glass of the windows. He'd once told Lindsay she was strong. He had to believe she was strong enough to survive.

Mac parked, and climbed out just as Hawkes stepped in front of Danny blocking him physically from moving out.

"You can't just go over there," he said. "They weren't firing handguns, Danny."

"Have you heard—" Danny asked, turning to Stella—though he was still braced to run. There was a panicked look in his eyes. He drew in a short breath, "Do you know if…?"

Her lips drawn in a firm line, eyes uncertain, Stella slowly shook her head. Danny looked down and held out his hand where his fingers still clutched around his phone. Hawkes put a hand on his back, but said nothing. They didn't know what to say.

Captain Lou Miller, from SWAT walked over. He had a distinguished service record with the NYPD. He knew negotiation and he knew action. They'd bickered at times over their careers, but Mac respected him.

Still, he looked wary, a more than a little tired. More than just a seasoned cop.

"We're getting ready to establish contact, find out why they will tell us."

"What do you know?" Mac asked.

"Not much," Miller motioned toward the inferred equipment they had set up. The concrete's pretty thick, our capabilities of getting a reading are limited. We've counted four or five people, but there is likely more. These areas on the ground… we're pretty sure they're your officers."

"That's in the middle," Hawkes said, crossing his arms as he studied the screen. "We left two officers searching that area together. Detective Monroe had moved off by that time."

"She didn't get out," Miller raised his eyebrows.

"No, but there's room to hide in that place. Stacked crates, piles of junk. A few doorways. The Fire Marshall would never had signed off on the inspection the way things are. If we move in, she could be caught in the middle."

"There was room for her to hide?" Danny looked back at the building, searched it as if he could possibly see inside. His voice held hope, though it trembled.

Stella looked at Mac, then back at Danny, swallowing hard. "Danny … she hasn't established contact."

"But she could," Danny turned on the man. "You've got to give her time. We can't just move in, take the chance nothing's going to happen."

"Son—"

"If there's anyone who can figure out how to get us a message—"

"We have a job to do—"

"_Not_," his voice rose to a shout, vibrating with anger, "until we know if she's _alive_."

Mac held up a hand and set a quick glance that moved Hawkes and Stella forward. They moved between him and captain Miller, though Danny's eyes remained stedfast as he allowed himself to be led away.

Mac turned toward the Captain, ignoring what was going on behind him. "Lou, Danny may have spoken out of turn, but he's right. You can't just move in there now. Not without proper understanding and knowledge of the circumstances."

"Mac, I'm not sure you understand the circumstances. Those men are not engaging in contact, so all I know is that area was zoned for residential years ago. We've got three schools within two miles that are in session. We have a Federal building left over from the Nixon years, not one mile north of here that's packed with government employees. We have three banks within walking distance, and we got families scattered throughout all of these buildings around this one. We can't clear them all out. We might not know what's going on in that building, but we do know those men are violent. Our analysis is, whether we know or not, that they're preparing for more."

* * *

Lindsay stared at her phone. If only she'd had a phone that night. If only she been able to call… someone. Would it have left her in the bathroom, cowering under the sink's shadow?

But it hadn't, and this wasn't who she was.

Slowly she stood, her breath short as she fought against a sudden wave of nausea. Her legs trembled, and she felt weak. She set a hand on the desk and waited a moment, gained her balance as she pushed against the memories.

She was a cop.

She'd probably become a cop that night, needing more, always needing answers. And looking for justice, for her friends and the others she'd met in the morgue along the way.

She stared at her phone that lay just inside the doorway, taking in a deep breath. Did anyone even know that something was wrong? That everything had fallen apart? Stella and Hawkes might need her help. They had to be alive. Whatever was happening out in the warehouse needed to be stopped.

There were so many questions and someone needed the answers. She wasn't hiding, she reminded herself. She was alive. She was here and in a position to so something. To find out.

And hopefully stop the next murder.

* * *

_Uh oh. Please don't hate me … :p ha ha. J/K Honestly, I appreciate the reviews and I hope to get the next part up soon (as I work on a lit review for m research). You guys are awesome!_


	4. message

_Thank you so much for the great support for this story! It's been awesome. FYI, my notes disappeared from my desk, so I braved the trash bag I was about to take out side (office papers only for those a little freaked out by that note)and, thankfully, I found the page I was missing! By the way, as obvious, I own nothing to do with the show (as you're reading it and not watching it television), but I'm glad that someone does to feed my imagination._

* * *

Chapter 4:

Lindsay stared at the line of light where the door was cracked open. Putting a hand up on the desk, she slowly levered herself up, fighting against a wave of dizziness. She tried to push back the fear, the sickness. It just pressed, making it hard to breath.

Carefully, one step at a time, she walked over to where her phone lay, keeping her eye on the line of white. It was an effort, but she knelt down, and picked up her phone.

It was quiet in the room, so quiet she could hear the raggedness of her breath. She stopped, listened to the commotion outside.

Then she moved toward the door.

* * *

Outside, Stella walked over to where Mac was unrolling the blueprints they'd had brought out from city records. He spread them out on a table they'd set up.

Stella leaned over looked at them. "We were here," she said, pointing to the center, then drawing a line out to the door.

"And Lindsay?" Mac asked.

Stella looked up. "Hawkes," she motioned him over. With an eye for detail, Hawkes detailed information from Lindsay's last known location, to where he remembered boxes, crates, and with an eerie memory, the height and words written on the side.

When her phone buzzed, she pulled it out of her pocket and flipped it open.

"It's from Lindsay," she met Mac's eyes as he looked up from the blue prints. She opened the text message, watched as a video clip came up.

"She sent us video from the inside." Stella shook her head. "What is that? It looks like some sort of …"

"Tank," Mac took the phone from Stella's hand and pushed play again even as another text came through. He opened it.

_both off dead._

_neonazis_

_assmbl 2 tanks _

_frm insde crates._

_stacks of wpns_

_still unloading_

Another message came through, this of a second video. It was obvious she had shot through a thin opening, a doorway of sorts.

"You know what this means Mac?"

"Lindsay's alive …" He bit his bottom lip as he studied the old warehouse. "And she needs to get out."

* * *

Lindsay dropped back against the wall in her hiding place on the other side of the desk. She was out of energy. The shock, the fear, something was taking its toll on her. She fought against another wave of nausea and slowly breathed in; her eyes open even as she listened to the continued construction and noise outside.

Tanks, she thought. There was a pile where the tracks lay, waiting to be secured. The long barrel of the canon, the turrets being assembled.

With little time they'd been out there, it was happening too fast. It wouldn't be much longer before they were ready.

To do what?

She'd managed to lock the door before turning the handle back and slowly closing it. The lock was flimsy, standard lock, not much stronger than a bedroom handle. If someone wanted in, they would get in without much effort.

And they would know she was inside.

She needed to find a better hiding place. As she started to flip on her flashlight, the lights on her phone flashed, signaling a text. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw it was from Stella.

_Are you safe?_

Lindsay hit reply, surprised when her fingers fumbled with the phone.

* * *

Stella nodded when Lindsay texted her back. "She's in an office and the door's locked."

"Tell her she's done good and to stay hidden."

"You heard from Lindsay?" Danny asked as he walked over, Hawkes right behind him. He'd been standing as close to the building as he'd been allowed, pacing, watching … unable to do anything else.

"Stella just received a message," Hawkes said and pointed to where her video was being brought up on a lap top.

"Sh—she filmed _that_?" gripping his left forearm with his right hand, he pointed at the screen, his eyes wide with panic as he studied the footage of the tank being assembled. "Is she crazy?"

"She's a cop, Danny," Mac said as he watched the video. "And she probably knows that her only way out of there is to get as much information as she can."

"Whatever they're planning, it's to cause some damage. We go in against that material," Hawkes murmured as he watched the footage, "she's likely going to get caught in the crossfire."

Danny stared at it for a moment longer, then turned away, his fingers opening and closing as he took in short, shallow breaths. He looked back at the building, shook his head as if fighting against his own mind.

"She's smart, Danny," Stella said, putting her hand on his arm, and for a moment simply watched the building with him.

He shook his head, pulled out his phone, sent his own text message.

_Stay safe_.

He pressed send, watched the screen. Waited.

And nothing came back.


	5. In

_Thank you so much for the great support for this story! It's been awesome. By the way, as obvious, I own nothing to do with the show (as you're reading it and not watching it television), but I'm glad that someone does to feed my imagination._

* * *

Chapter 5:

Lindsay awoke to darkness. She stretched against the hard wall behind her and barely held back a cry as she felt the stabbing pain in her side. It took her a moment to take it in, to remember where she was, and to push back the pain. She fumbled first for her flashlight even as the lights on her phone flashed and Danny's picture appeared.

She stared down at it for a moment before awkwardly picking it up. _Three text messages._

That's when she saw the blood on her fingers.

The phone tumbled into her lap as she clumsily felt around until she grabbed her flashlight. Now the sudden pain, the dizziness, the nausea made sense.

She'd been shot. The safety net of shock had worn away leaving her with the harsh edge of pain. She stared down at the wet patch of blood, felt the tremble of her breath, and the small pool on the floor where her hand had rested.

Awkwardly, she slid out of her light blazer. She worked it behind her back, fight against the stabbing pain. Then she tugged the sleeves as tight as she could around her waist. It took a moment, and took her breath.

Finally, it was secure. She hoped it served enough pressure to stop the blood flow.

She didn't know how long she had been out—but long enough to receive two messages from Danny and one from Stella. The messages were only minutes apart, so it wasn't long. There was still commotion in the outer room. Time was passing too fast.

She turned her flashlight, looked around for a better place to hide. The rusty file cabinet was too risky to move, the crates against the wall. She couldn't use them for cover.

She blinked and moved the light back into the shadows. There was a vent. It looked large enough for her to fit it. She wouldn't, couldn't think of what lived in it. What moved in it. Right now, it was an option, and she needed options.

It took work, but she managed use the desk to help level herself up. She lifted her case on the way and nearly crumpled. She had to stop, gain equilibrium and fight against harsh breaths that were too loud in the quiet room.

The vent wasn't far, but it took something out of her. She pressed her hand to the wall and fought against the wave that threatened to take her down.

Slowly, she lowered herself to the floor and ran her fingers over the grate. It was rusted, like the file cabinet. She needed to know where the vent went.

And then she needed to contact Danny.

* * *

Danny's hand was closed around his phone, so when the text message came through he flipped it open and stared in relief at the message.

_Sorry—faded out_. _I'm fine._

He read the message again, frowned over the message. What did that mean? His mind raced the answer too simple. She was hurt.

His phone beeped again.

_Large vent. Where goes?_

Danny turned to Mac in one motion and saw him already standing with Hawkes with the plans spread out on the table. She was thinking. She'd sent it to them all. That gave him hope. If she could think, if she could process, she could survive.

He walked over, stood with the team as Mac ran a finger over the blue prints. Danny watched and worried. He thought of Lindsay alone, hurt, afraid. He couldn't get to her. He couldn't do _anything_.

_Focus_, he told himself. _She needs you to focus._

"Looks like it comes out, here," he said, shaking his head as he tapped his finger on another route, "and here. She's going to need to make it to this one."

"That's a long way, Mac," Danny watched as Mac looked up at him. "She passed out or something. She hasn't said, but she's got to be injured."

"I lot of bullets were flying around in there when it first went down," Hawkes looked at Danny, his dark eyes direct, frank. "She was likely hit."

Mac shook his head as he picked up the blue prints and folded the large sheet to center the area that Lindsay would travel. "We've got to get her as far away as possible. They need to move in before they get that tank put together."

* * *

She'd taken out the screws and now used the screwdriver to pry the vent cover off. She felt it give, and then heard the crack.

The sounded echoed through the small room. She pressed her hands to the cover, held it in place and listened. When no one seemed to come, she carefully lowered it to the floor and moved it out of the way.

Taking shallow breaths to fight against the pain in her side, she carefully climbed into the vent with her phone in one hand and her flashlight in the other. She let the light shine out in front of her and cringed. She wouldn't think of the dirt, of the rest. Something moved in the distance, she told herself it was the shadows.

She didn't have room for a full crawl on hands hand knees, so she struggled to push and pull herself through as best as she could.

He progress was slow, bu she moved until she had to stop, then waited briefly until she could force herself to go on.

She breathed a sigh of relief when her phone signaled a text.

It was from Danny.

_Call me. I'll do the talking._

* * *

Danny studied the vent opening at the back of the warehouse. She could fit, if she could get through. He didn't think of anything else. She would get through.

Then he'd find the tux, and take her to some fancy thing. Just the two of them. He would grab the moment, show her he could do it.

When she made it out.

He breathed a sigh of relief when his phone rang. He looked down, relieved to see the familiar pick of her laughing at him, before flipping his phone open.

"We're at the vent," he said, "we're going to walk you through."

"Try … crawling."

Even hushed, he still heard it. The attempt at humor, the pain. "Don't talk, Montana. Don't force it. Just listen to my voice."

Hawkes held the plans up for him and he detailed her journey. She would have to make two right angled turns. It wouldn't be easy, gauging the size. If she couldn't get out … she would get out.

And if she was hurt … he pushed the thought back. There was nothing else he could do.


	6. Out

_This chapter is dedicated to _**missEris** _who wanted something a little from Danny … so here you go. I changed it a little because of this, for the better, I think—but I'll explain that at the end! Thank you so much for the great support for this story! It's been awesome. By the way, as obvious, I own nothing to do with the show (as you're reading it and not watching it television), but I'm glad that someone does to feed my imagination._

* * *

Chapter 6:

The turn was tough; the small space, bending at the waist. Having … She closed her eyes and winced … having to twist.

It took her breath to the point she couldn't move. It stuttered deep in her chest and left her pressed, with her back to the wall, as she'd had to turn to make it around the corner. She could barely register Danny's voice over the phone as she struggled to keep it close to her ear.

Finally she let herself fall face forward onto the vent floor and closed her eyes. She listened to Danny's voice, to the New York accent.

"Lindsay?"

He'd obviously heard her fall. Maybe she'd cried out, she couldn't be sure. Or maybe the sound had echoed down the ventilation shaft. Still, she heard the worry in his voice.

_I'm okay_, she wanted to say, but lay there instead, thinking the words. The vent was cool against her cheek. She could hear Danny, his frantic call, but it suddenly seemed so far away.

And then the word twirled around her. She looked down, and she was in a dress walking through the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The dress flowed around her, like something out of a classic movie; white, elegant, and it made her seem so much taller. Her arm was tucked into a man in a tux, but as she looked up, she thought, h_e's too tall._ He's too tall to be Danny.

Then she realize she couldn't see his head … so tall he seemed _headless_. Only in New York could she date a headless man.

She sputtered out a laugh even as she wondered why he wasn't Danny. Danny hadn't wanted to see her in a dress.

She looked back down at it and frowned. There, the wound in her side was slowly seeping blood into the shimmering white fabric of her dress. It was wet and sticky.

She frowned at the growing stain. White was impossible to keep clean.

_I just should have worn red._

* * *

"Lindsay?"

"_Red_," he heard her mutter. He thought of her words earlier. She'd faded out on them.

"What …" he swallowed and looked at Hawkes. "Montana, honey … stay with us."

"Danny?"

"Stay with me. Can you keep moving?"

"Yeah," the word came out as if pushed.

"Just keep it up. We have some plans to keep, you and I."

"_A … dress_."

He smiled, despite himself. "A beautiful dress," he said, even as his forehead creased with worry. "I can't wait to see you in it. You've got to make it out for that to happen."

"_I'm …okay_."

He closed his eyes and listened to her ragged breaths as she pushed herself on. Come on Lindsay, he thought, even as he pictured her in that red dress she seemed to be keeping in mind.

* * *

It was hard to breath, the air unmoved in ages. It was getting warm, closed off. Like a tomb.

He flashlight flickered. She would soon loose its light. Then would the creatures who roamed the vent come out?

It was getting harder and harder to push back the thoughts.

Lindsay had long ago pushed off her shoes and used the natural traction in her feet to pus herself forward. But now, as she managed one more time to shift her weight, lift up to crawl one more step, her foot slipped. Her knee hit the metal of the vent and she felt the pain of it rupture through her body.

Her breath was ragged and she couldn't stop the soft sob.

Her head was swimming. The world grew dark.

* * *

He felt a tap on his shoulder, looked over to find Mac standing at his side, holding a water bottle out. Danny reached for it, and shifted the phone so he could take a long drink. He'd been keeping a rambling one sided conversation with her so that his throat was dry.

Danny heard her groan, heard the pain, and nearly dropped what was left of the water. "Lindsay?"

He looked at Mac, "She's getting weak."

"They're moving in," Mac said, his eyes serious. "We're out of time."

Danny looked at the vent, went and knelt down in front of it, tried to see inside. Hawkes leaned down beside him, shined the beam of the high powered flashlight. The vent was still empty. It didn't surprise him. He'd done his best to keep up with Lindsay's progress.

He tried again, calling out her name into the phone—but he could no longer hear her breathing. He studied the vest, measured the size—as he had half a dozen times over the last half hour.

Danny handed the phone to Hawkes, then stripped off the bullet proof vest he wore. "I'm going in."

With that, he crawled into the vent and pushed back every thought of what he would find inside.

Except Lindsay.

_Alive._

* * *

_Originally, Lindsay was going to make it out on her own … but that seemed to easy, and well, Miss Eris's suggestion seemed a whole lot better. We'll see … of course, she's not out of the woods yet, neither of them are._

_And there's about to be a showdown neither one of them have any control over… maybe. :p_


	7. strength

_This chapter is dedicated to _**Dragonfly**_ at DLchem_ _who made me laugh with her "gentle" prodding :p. Thank you, Dragonfly, and everyone else so much for the great support for this story! It's been awesome. By the way, as obvious, I own nothing to do with the show (as you're reading it and not watching it television), but I'm glad that someone does to feed my imagination._

* * *

Chapter 7:

Wearing a bullet proof vest and steel helmet, with her long curls pulled back at her nape, Stella closed her cell phone and looked at Flack who was dressed much the same way. "Mac's on his way."

"Lindsay's out then."

"No," Stella shook her head and glanced briefly toward the rear of the warehouse, where Hawkes and EMT were still waiting. "But Danny's gone in."

Flack pictured the vent which had barely looked big enough for Lindsay to squeeze her way through. He pushed back on the worry. Now was not the time. Lindsay was a fighter, and if anyone could get her out of there it would be Danny—who was stubborn enough to do what it took, and who loved the girl beyond comprehension.

So much beyond, it didn't even occur to him that he was in love.

Don shook his head and focused. "He gets stuck in there, Sinclair's going to pitch a fit if the department has to pay to cut them out."

Stella smiled at his attempt of humor, but both turned for one more glance toward the back of the building. It was about to get more dangerous for them all.

* * *

He could have used an oxygen tank, Danny thought, as much for him as for Lindsay. The air was stale, and smelled of the vent's inhabitants. Building wasn't even nearly up to any code.

He pushed it out and focused on the end, where the beam of the flashlight told him there was the turn. It wouldn't be easy. He barely had enough room to move his arms. He pushed with the traction of his shoes and used his arms and hands to lift himself just enough to pull him along. It took a great deal of strength.

He could only marvel at how Lindsay had made it past the first turn on her own.

As he reached the turn, he leaned in and angled his flashlight. There she was, closer than he'd hoped or expected. But he was still going to have to make it around the corner himself to reach her.

He started to call out, then stopped. They had heard faint echoes of her movement from the outside. If he called out, it might echo back into the office, and bring unwanted attention.

He pulled himself in and turned sideways, his back to the edge, then angled himself around.

And prayed he could get out the other way.

She didn't move as he crawled close. He set the flashlight down near her shoulder and pulled himself up so his face ran parallel with hers. She looked so peaceful that for a moment he panicked.

His fingers fumbled at her neck as he checked for a pulse, and breathed out in relief when he found it. She was weak, but she was still with him.

"Montana," he whispered, pushing her hair back tenderly. His fingers brushed over her cheek. "Come back to me, baby. We've got to get you out of here. You've got to go find a pretty red dress for our evening out."

She was hurt, more than likely shot. If he had to pull her out, he didn't know what kind of damage that would do. He wanted her awake. He wanted her aware of the movements, just in case.

He placed a gentle kiss on her nose, and then smiled with relief as her eye lids fluttered open.

"Montana," he murmured, and watched as she blinked those brown eyes open.

"Danny?"

He grinned. "Who else would crawl into this place to get you?"

He leaned in, needing the contact, and let his lips settle over hers briefly, taking a moment for the knots of worry and fear to lesson. The kiss was more than gentle. It was healing.

As he pulled back, he heard Hawkes' faint voice coming in over Lindsay's phone, which was laying not to far from his ear.

"_Reunion time's up Messer. You've got a deadline, here._"

Danny met Lindsay's eyes and smiled. "Let's go, Montana."

It took a moment to tuck her phone and the flashlight away in his pocket, just in case they needed them in the process. It would leave them in the dark and without contact, but he needed both their hands free.

Danny took each of her small ones in his and felt relief when she was able to grab on with some strength. She still had some fight left in her.

"Good, girl," he murmured as she made the first sift back. "Let's get out of here."

It was then he heard it, the echo of a shout and a bang of a metal door being hit.

"The office," Lindsay whispered. He couldn't see her, couldn't see her eyes, but he knew what was in them. More than anyone, she knew what those men were capable of.

"Come on," he said and started to shift back.

Then it happened, at the other end of the vent system he saw a flicker of light and heard the loud echoing spatter of bullets.

Lindsay's hands closed around his and as one they moved.

* * *

Mac had geared up and waited with the Stella and Flack, lined up outside the building, waiting for the call to move.

Then they heard the shots from inside. He looked over met Stella's gaze.

Together, they thought of Lindsay—Danny.

Then his eyes were on Captain Martin.

It was time to move.


	8. soldier

_Whew! Let's just say it's so much easier to get into trouble … By the way, as obvious, I own nothing to do with the show (as you're reading it and not watching it television)._

* * *

Chapter 8:

It wasn't a surprise when they moved in—after all, they had already tried to establish contact. Those inside were armed, some possibly trained military combatants. It did surprise those inside that the windows running along the roof's edge shattered as one, raining down a shower of glass.

SWAT hadn't wasted a moment of the delay. Small charges exploded the glass. Holes, cut into the roof, opened. Tear gas was tossed in. Sirens blazed—even as the doors blast open.

Shooting began almost immediately, scattered, blind. There was shouting. Orders yelled from the front.

Mac and Flack went in behind steel barriers, their weapons ready. At the doorway, Stella paused with her weapon, waiting with the second group.

And hoping they weren't needed.

* * *

Inside the vent, Lindsay inched along slowly following Danny's lead. He shifted as far back as possible, then guided her forward, holding strong. She focused on his breathing and ignored the words and bullets coming from the vent beyond.

Lindsay tensed when she heard the muffled shouts. Danny squeezed her hands.

"They've moved in."

She dropped down as she reached him, expelled a tense breath. Then she listened. The rapid fire into the vent had stopped. The noise had changed, sounding instead like an action movie played too loud several rooms away. Her heart rate escalated as the vent vibrated.

"Danny—"

"S'okay, Montana," he murmured and moved slightly so that his cheek rested against hers. "You helped them out, with your footage. Scared me … but helped out more than you would know. They're in there, knowing what to expect … and why they knew they couldn't wait."

Lindsay closed her eyes and rested her cheek against his, smooth and warm, and waited for the pain and nausea to pass. It was dark, and there was nothing but the sounds of the fight and feel of being close. She felt the tickle of his facial hair, the warmth of his breath. She breathed him in, tired. She was so very tired.

"Danny—"

The vent had vibrated almost violently.

She'd been about to tell him she was ready to move. The sound came out almost panicked.

His hands tightened on hers once again as he pulled her arms out along his side, preparing to move. "I'm making the turn now. We're almost there. Hold on."

"I … Danny, I don't know if—"

He cut her off with a gentle kiss.

"Accurate—" the word just tumbled from her lips when he pulled back. He'd made it seem so natural to find her lips in the dark.

"I'll remind you of that later," she could hear the easy laughter in his voice—she could almost see the way his eyes looked. "Right now, I know enough that we're getting out of this thing together."

She smiled even as she felt him move away.

* * *

And then it was over. Stella raised her weapon and turned the corner. The police had their weapons aimed; the militants who remained standing had their hands—void of weapons—raised.

There were few.

Stella sucked in a breath and let it out as she lowered her machine gun. For better or worse, it was over.

She stepped back, out of the way. It wasn't her scene, nor her job. She waited on the outside as men filed out, one held in Flack's tight grip.

Extremists, wearing urban camo and handcuffs. She was surprised when it was just two. Both young.

She watched as they were taken to patrol cars, all but shoved inside. Their faces and names would be flashed all over the news. Their motives analyzed, attacked. The NYPD would be scrutinized, censored and maybe even punished—no matter how many lives might have been saved, or how many of their own …

Then she turned, and there was Mac. He walked out, weapon down, eyes withdrawn. He was back, she knew, in Beirut, in a different kind of fight.

"Mac," she reached out when he was close, and nearly touched surface cut on his cheek. He reached up, and ran the back of his hand over it, pulling it away to examine the blood.

"Not much considering," he murmured as his dark gaze met hers. "Heard from Lindsay?"

She shook her head, and then looked into the warehouse at nearly dozen bodies that had fallen. They hadn't planned on making out of whatever they had planned. She sighed.

"We've got a big crime scene Mac. They're going to want to spin this in a dozen ways," still she knew where her own heart lay, and where his was as well. "Why don't I secure this and you go back, check on Lindsay."

He nodded, but before he moved he reached out a hand and touched her arm. For a moment, they just considered in silence what hadn't happened.

And then he turned, stripping off his gear, and headed back to where the rest of their team struggled.

Stella watched him go, for a moment just watched, then slowly turned and walked into the warehouse. There was one more thing she needed to do—needed to see, before she could take charge of the scene. For a moment, she ignored the chaos and the bodies. She walked to the office where Lindsay had been hiding.

There were two bodies inside. She dipped down, checked for a pulse. Both dead.

Frowning, she stepped over them, walked over to the desk. She stared down at the floor, at the drying smear of blood where Lindsay had been hiding. Stella ran her fingers over one of the bloody hand prints on the desk. So small. Then she looked at the wall, studied the spray of bullets.

The men had fired on her, and had been fired upon. She reached out, touched one of the holes and closed her eyes, trying her best to take it all in.

* * *

It was suddenly, eerily, quiet.

As he made the turn, Danny saw the beam of the high powered flashlight shining. He heard Hawkes' voice. It helped, it really did, to know they were closer. Close enough.

"Lindsay?"

"I'm fine," her voice came out as a whisper.

Danny smiled at her attempt, at the fight still left in her.

"I got her."

Getting Lindsay around the corner was tougher. Not so much that she didn't do it better than he hoped, but because with the light shining down the vent, he could watch her struggle against the pain. When they were settled again, he slid his hands under her armpits and did more pulling then before to get her out. He heard Hawkes again, then Mac. He heard the sounds of the city—and knew he was close.

He nearly wept with relief when he felt hands on his ankles and someone told him to hold onto her as they pulled.

_Like he was about to let go._

He glanced up, saw her eyes watching him steadily. He smiled, and adjusted his grip.

Then, feeling like a miracle, he felt his feet hit the ground. He stood, reached in, and pulled Lindsay out himself. She ended up—briefly—on her feet, before Danny swept her up into his arms. People were talking all at once, yelling out directions. Her heard the tumble of a helicopter, the peel of a siren.

He saw Mac, then Hawkes. The EMTs were there with a stretcher.

He lay her down, kept her hand in his, and finally managed to look over her. It wasn't easy.

She'd lost a lot of blood. It spread through her blazer, over her shirt and smeared down her jeans and bare feet with the thick coating of dirt and who knew what else.

He looked back at the sleeves of her blazer as one of the EMTs secured it with more support.

"She was shot."

"Just a little," she said as the men prepared to take her away.

He met her eyes and laughed—it just bubbled out of him. Maybe a little of it was hysteria, but she was safe. That's all that mattered.

"Only you could be a little shot."

"No—" she shook her head, "you would say … same thing."

"You both need a bath," Hawkes put in. Lindsay smiled weakly at him, and then closed her eyes.

Mac stepped over and ran a hand over her hair, gently pushing it away from her face. "You did good, Lindsay."

Her slight smile let them know she hadn't yet given in.

"Tired."

"You can rest now," Mac said, and to Danny's surprise it was then, like a soldier following orders, that she finally let go.

And slept.


	9. dress

_As obvious, I own nothing to do with the show (as you're reading it and not watching it television)._

* * *

Chapter 9:

Danny sat in Lindsay's hospital room and watched her sleep. Apart from the stark hospital atmosphere, she simply looked peaceful. Still, she hadn't yet woken up. After nearly two days, she lay there, inactive. He kept expecting her to blink awake and to smile, to open those brown eyes that easily befuddled his heart.

She'd slept through the arrival at the hospital, the poking and prodding, the bath, the obvious surgery, fever and visitors. The crew from work had visited, along with his parents and a few of his cousins. Her neighbor had come by, added to the small display of flowers; a bouquet from work, one from Don, another from the mayor himself … and the last from him.

Danny looked back at Lindsay, wishing for her eyes to open. She was plagued a little in her dreams, and shifted awkwardly in the bed, but she'd didn't wake.

He'd been told—reassured by Hawkes, even—that she was just sleeping off the trauma and drugs. That her body needed time to heal. She'd lost a lot of blood, pushed herself, and then was hit by an infection and more medication. No one said the word coma. The doctors didn't seem to be overly worried about it.

And still he'd watched her sleep.

"Well," he turned, saw Stella at the door. "You look better."

He glanced down briefly and shrugged it off. Don had gone to his apartment, grabbed some clothes. Hawkes had found him a place to shower and change. They encouraged him to do it while she was sleeping.

"I brought you something."

Stella handed him the large coffee she carried and a bag from a nearby sub shop. He nodded his thanks, but sat them down to the side. He'd eat when she was gone.

"And, as you requested," she pulled an envelope out of her purse.

He took it and offered a smile. "Thanks, Stella."

He watched as she walked around to the other side of the bed. Her long fingers curled around the rails as she looked down at Lindsay. "No change?"

Danny shook his head. "Hawkes assures me that's a good thing."

"She'll pull through."

"Yeah."

After Stella left, Danny opened the envelope and pulled out the photos inside. Three different dresses, all red. A clerk held them out, still on a hanger. He tried to see Lindsay in them, but he couldn't quite get the image in his mind. As well as he knew her.

He glanced up, studied her and watched as she shifted. Taking her hand, he stood. "Montana," he murmured.

This time, for the first time, she blinked. It took a moment, but then there were her eyes, those beautiful—drowsy—brown eyes.

"Hey—"

She frowned. "What happened?"

"You don't remember?"

"There were … men. They killed … and they were putting together … _a tank_. And the vent—"

It seemed to agitate her, so he reached out, brushed her lips with his thumb. "Don't worry about it. You're safe now."

"You got me out."

"Not alone," he pulled the chair over and sat down, keeping her hand in his. "I asked Stella to bring me these."

He shifted, held out the photos so she could see them.

She looked at him, then at the dresses, and frowned. "Why …"

"The Kennedy Center? Remember, we get to go down to DC with the mayor."

"You want me to wear a red dress?"

"I thought it was what you wanted."

"I don't know. You didn't even want to go."

"Stupid reaction, Montana," he set the photos down. "I'd like to see you in a dress. One of these, or something else. It doesn't matter. I've got a cousin who knows someone who can get me a good tux and he might be able to work out a deal for you. And Hawkes mentioned he and Delinda could go with us out one night, kind of a practice run—"

She smiled—still weak, but his first view of a Lindsay smile. "You need practice?"

"Maybe," he said. "And maybe I'd like to see you in a dress more than once."

She yawned and tried to fight back sleep. For a moment she just watched him, so serious. "Messer … you confuse me."

"Tired?"

"A little."

"Then go back to sleep. I'll be right here."

* * *

At a fancy restaurant, nearly two weeks later, Mac sat across from Stella and tapped his glass of wine to hers. "To Danny and Lindsay."

Stella nodded, and took a sip of her wine. "I still say I won … Danny turned around, seemed to take the evening as a bonus and added this little evening of … did Lindsay call it a practice session?"

Mac dipped his head in acknowledgement. "But he turned down the tickets. First shot. That was the bet."

"She got herself two beautiful dresses. I think it's going to be worth his time and … agony."

He chuckled, and then checked his watch. "Seems like, if I remember correctly, he's picking her up about now."

"Wishing you could be there?"

"To see his face? To see him squirm in a tux?" Mac considered it, and then shook his head. "Too much like prom night."

* * *

Straightening her dress—a shimmery light blue number that fell to her knees, with a skirt that moved around her when she walked. She'd immediately fallen in love with it. The color made her think of Danny's eyes—eyes she could still remember guiding her around that last turn of the vent, the only thing she could really remember seeing.

Sounds, yes--sounds she would never forget. But it had been dark, until they made that last turn.

Lindsay took a deep breath and opened the door.

There he stood. Not a prince, but … an incredibly handsome guy that look so out of place. The laugh bubbled out of her without thought. Her hand flew to her lips, even as her eyes widened. "I'm sorry."

He narrowed his eyes at her. "Something funny, Montana?"

"No … just—I think I'm going on a date with a stranger," she laughed again, unable to stop it. He hadn't gone for a traditional tux; something still elegant, just not as formal. Still … he seemed so … ridged and not …

"This isn't you."

"It _is_ me. For tonight. And what _you_ wanted."

"I wanted the dress … and for you to want to see me in a dress."

He grinned and stepped back, admiring the view. "You look … amazing."

"Thank you."

"And not red."

She thought of the one that came to her in her dreams and barely suppressed a shudder. No, she didn't want a dress like that one. Not … right now.

"I liked this one better."

"I don't have any complaints. Ready to go?"

She smiled, and reached back with her other hand to grab the handle of her door. "Yes."


End file.
